


i really need you tonight

by whisperedwords



Series: so a speedster, a hacker, and a vigilante walk into a bar... [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Post-3x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedwords/pseuds/whisperedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s dead.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i really need you tonight

**Author's Note:**

> please don't hate me. please.
> 
> oh god who am i kidding, _i_ hate me. 3x09 spoilers, mostly Barry/Felicity. if they show barry's reaction to this on the flash i might actually sell my soul to WB/DC. (characters aren't mine, shows aren't mine, unbeta'd, etc.)

It’s late when Barry finally decides to retire the suit and head back home, a full day of crime-fighting and citizen-protecting behind him. Caitlin has left already, and Cisco is glaring at him—probably waiting for _him_ to leave so everything can be locked up. Oops.

“Sorry.” Barry says, a little tired smile curving on his lips. Cisco rolls his eyes but smiles back.

“Yeah, whatever. The Flash needs to be more considerate of his tech-guy’s sensitive sleep schedule.” Barry raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah, like you need beauty sleep.”

“Are you calling me beautiful, Barry Allen?” Cisco gasps, clapping his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “I didn’t know you felt that way—”

“I was actually going for more of a ‘you’re-a-lost-cause’ kind of thing, but whatever you want to think of it as.” He ducks as Cisco throws a box of tissues at his head and laughs brightly. “I’m just busting you, man, I—” He’s cut off as his phone starts ringing. He dramatically holds up a hand for Cisco to can it—which he does, to his credit—and answers the phone.

“Felicity? What’s up?” Barry answers lightly, a light pang in his chest. He hasn’t seen her and Ollie for a few days, and he misses them even though it takes about a minute to run over to Starling.

“You—you need to come over.” Felicity chokes, and the smile on Barry’s face drops immediately.

“Felicity? What happened. Are you okay?”

“Barry, just—” She breaks off, a sob echoing through the phone, and Barry immediately runs as fast as he can to her apartment, ignoring Cisco’s confused look and instead focusing on the panic currently bubbling in his chest. If anything happened to her….the thought alone makes the hair on the back of his neck bristle. He bursts into her apartment to find her curled up on her tiny couch, whole body shaking.

“Hey,” He murmurs, approaching her carefully and sitting down next to her on the couch. She looks at him and takes in a large gasp of air before she starts weeping hysterically, burying her face into Barry’s chest.

“He’s dead.” She manages between sobs. Something heavy settles in Barry’s stomach, then.

“Who?” He asks, but the coldness of who seems to already be creeping up on him.

“O-Oliver.” She cries even harder into his shirt. “He went to fight R’as, and h-he, he was stabbed, and—” She can’t find the words anymore. Everything around them seems to blacken in Barry’s vision. The room starts to spin, and he feels _sick_ , he hasn’t felt this sick since before the lightning, and—

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Felicity pulls his head down next to hers and rests their cheeks together. _I’m so sorry_ , she’s gasping, and he’s trying to console her, but how can he? One of the loves of his life is _dead_ and he—he’s not coming back.

“We don’t know for sure, he—he’s done this before, he’s gonna come back—” But Barry’s voice sounds hollow to his own ears, and he _knows_ it’s not helping either of them. So instead, he pulls Felicity even closer and lets her fist his shirt in her small ( _so small, so delicate_ , he notices) hands. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and cries. His arms cling to her in a way they never have before—there’s nothing sexual about this, now. He feels like he’s being swallowed, and the only way he can stay alive is if he keeps holding on to the woman he loves. Their tears mix and he can’t tell who’s shaking, can’t tell which ragged breaths are his own and which are hers. It’s disorienting—it’s like losing a limb, like his speed’s just been knocked out of him and all he has is the air in his lungs seeming to dissipate. Her body is pressed so tight up against him that he can feel her chest heaving against his. “I love you.” He manages. She pulls away from his embrace for a moment, her eyes shining with love and anguish and horror all at once. He cups her face in his hands and swipes at the tears there, despite his matching ones. “I love you so much, Felicity, and I promise—”

“No, no no no.” She cuts him off, shaking her head. Her hand clasps over his mouth. “Don’t—that’s the last thing he said to me, that he _promised_ —” She bites her lips and looks up, desperate for the tears to slow. “Please. I don’t want to talk.” And that he understands. So he nods, lets his hands fall from her face and rest back where they were at her sides. Felicity sits up and leans over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then another one, to his nose, and one to both of his cheeks, the salt of his tears burning her lips. She kisses his lips last—lets them brush against his gently, carefully, like he’s made of glass. “I love you too.” The ghost of her breath against his mouth makes him shiver a little, tears coming to a stop. She doesn’t move from her position above him, so he kisses her instead. It’s gentle, like hers. But they part for air, and suddenly his lips are hungry, and when they kiss again, it’s like fire, and it burns but in a way that she needs right now. So she kisses back, passion and anguish and despair mixing together and flooding through her veins like a drug. Her hands scratch and pull at his shirt, and he peels her layers away desperately, and they go through the motions like it’s just another Friday night of vigilante-ing. He mouths at her neck while she claws down his back, her heels dig into the muscles of his thighs, he lavishly attends to her breasts even while the void inside of him is fighting its way out of his throat. They fuck, and it’s not meaningless, but it—it’s not the same.

“He’ll find his way back to us.” Felicity breathes a while later, after they’ve curled up in her bed out of exhaustion. “He has to.” Her voice is a little stronger, a little less fragile now.

“He has to,” Barry echoes, searching for the strength to match her tone. “We had sex on your couch. That’s something he’s been asking to do for weeks, now.” Felicity chuckles a little, her breath hitting his chest gently. His arm around her tightens a little, and she squirms closer, and if they dream fitfully of watching Oliver fall off of the cliff-face, well—they don’t mention it to the other.


End file.
